Page 15 of Brutal Surrender

“You can answer me this way,” Vincent proposes. “If you come for me, I’ll set you up in a reverse glory hole tomorrow. I know the owner of a seedy brothel in Kingston. He would be more than happy to whore you on my behalf. I’m going to recommend he charge no more than five hundred Jamaican dollars for each turn. That’s less than five US dollars. Sound good?”

That’s a rhetorical question. The way my body responds to him, there’s no way I don’t come. I fill with dread. I don’t doubt that he could make his revolting idea come true.

“Maybe we put you through the reverse glory hole on your back,” he muses aloud. “We’ll let women line up on the other side of the wall for the chance to sit on your face. I bet that would be a dream come true for a slut like you.”

I’ll do it, I feel like telling him. As long as the waterboarding stops for good.

But if I propose that to him, he’ll know how much I hate the waterboarding. He’ll make me suffer both.

I feel his hand over my face, smothering me. My body attempts to flail from his grasp. But I also feel his fingers back inside of me. And that feels good. It takes my mind away from the lack of oxygen. He lets me breathe, then fondles me more intensely while he covers my nose and mouth. How is his hand so damn big?

I’m assaulted with panic and pleasure at the same time. I can’t deny it. His finger-fucking is amazing. I can hear the sloshing and squishing of my very wet cunt. The waterboarding already spiked my adrenaline, and it doesn’t take me long to come undone at his hands. I come so violently I feel like my eyes could pop out of their sockets. If it weren’t for his hand on my face holding me down, I’d probably have a big bruise from knocking my head against the table.

I ride the wave of euphoria for what seems like the longest orgasm. I almost pass out from it. Or maybe it’s the asphyxiation.

When I come to, the cloth is removed from my face, allowing me uninhibited access to oxygen. But in exchange, I have to see Vincent.

He smirks. “That’s a definite yes if ever I saw one.”

Chapter 8

Vincent

“Maybe you picked up a stomach bug,” Ming, my personal assistant, suggests from the doorway of my bathroom. He’s been in the business for over forty years, had a close relationship with my uncle, and is one of the few men I’d trust with my life.

Having retched till there was nothing left, I flush the toilet and go over to the sink to splash water onto my face. “How come I’m the only one on the yacht who’s sick?”

Ming’s face darkens. “You think they managed to poison you?”

I consider Ramona’s accomplice(s). It’s possible they got to my food or drink.

“We’ve got to figure this shit out,” I say before tossing back a cup of mouthwash.

“I can have Doctor Das—”

I spit out the mouthwash. “I don’t need a fucking doctor.”

“It won’t hurt to have a doctor look you over.”

I wave him off as I walk out of the bathroom. I don’t have the flu or some virus. I keep myself in excellent health and haven’t caught anything in nearly ten years. But could I really have been poisoned? I’m not convinced because my nausea comes and goes, and I have no other symptoms.

“Esen or I will watch your meals being made from now on,” Ming says.

I give him a sidelong glance as I walk by. “You’ve got better things to do.”

“No, I don’t. Your safety and well-being are my top priority.”

Ming pours a cup of tea and hands it to me. Tea is my beverage of choice. Irene always had hot water and tea on hand.

“You know that tea is good for you in so many ways,” she told me. “Good for digestion, good for stamina—which you need because you work so hard.”

I never told her what I actually did “for a living.” That I was part of an international triad. I wasn’t just a footman either. I was groomed for leadership.

She would have been devastated to know the truth. And yet, I suspect she wasn’t completely in the dark. She was innocent, but she wasn’t obtuse. She had to wonder why I gave her so few details, but she never pressed for them. Maybe she knew I wasn’t going to be in it for long. Because I would have given up anything and everything for her.

Now that she’s gone, it doesn’t matter what the fuck I do. I took the Black Dragon Triad to new heights, but it’s all meaningless. If Ramona’s bullet had struck its target—it barely missed me—would the world be any different? It’d probably be better off. But I have unfinished business before I die, and that’s to hunt down anyone and everyone involved in Irene’s death.

“Take some time off while we’re here in Kingston,” I tell Ming as I take the tea. “Go to the beach. Get a tan.”

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